


Desire awakens only those things that are thought possible

by kaitlia777



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Dreams, F/M, Prompt Fic, Sexual Fantasy, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-25
Updated: 2012-06-05
Packaged: 2017-11-04 07:15:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/391191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaitlia777/pseuds/kaitlia777
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Emma's pretty certain that the appropriate response to being drugged, held hostage, and threatened at gun- and scissor-point by a madman with no respect for personal space is NOT to have intense, vivid sexual dreams about him.<br/>Apparently her subconscious hasn't figured this out.<br/>I'd love to see this in the "Five Times Emma Had Sex Dreams about the Hatter, and One Time She Didn't" format (with the last time being when she has a waking fantasy about him; or they're together and actually having sex; or even when she has a cavity-inducing fluff dream where he's sane and they're having sickeningly sweet family time with Grace and Henry; or something). <br/>Bonus points if Emma's dreams include her running her tongue along the scar on his neck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Dream is A Wish....

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to a prompt on the [Once Upon A Time Kink Meme](http://ouatkinkmeme.livejournal.com/754.html?page=31/). This is smutty…I always feel funny writing smut. I think it’s the fact that words that describe the body parts involved in sex are just…not sexy sounding words….

“I told you, you have magic.”

Upon hearing an unexpected voice behind her, Emma Swan froze in the process of washing up her dinner dishes.

Well, silverware. Since Mary Margaret had been arrested, the quasi-reluctant Sheriff had been living on take out, reverting to her pre-Storybrook ways.

Slowly, she turned, regarding the man who was leaning against the far wall. His head was lowered slightly, so that he was peering at her through the thick fringe of his eyelashes.

“Jefferson,” she greeted her one-time captor/hat obsessed delusional guy, cocking her head to the side, “How did you get in here?”

Though he wasn't making any threatening or aggressive moves, their history made Emma wish her gun was still at her hip instead of tucked away in a drawer.

As though reading her mind, Jefferson smiled at her, a warm, genuine expression that she could admit made something inside her letter. Pushing away from the wall, he took two steps before crouching beside something she had noticed due to his presence.

A hat.

The hat he'd kidnapped her to make, the one he insisted would possess the magic to take him home.

The hat she'd picked up from amongst the shards of glass that littered the driveway after Mary Margaret had knocked him out the window (in self-defense!). For some reason, she'd been unable to bring yourself to dispose of it and had taken it home with her. Until now, it had been sitting harmlessly on a shelf.

“How do you think?” he asked, smiling coyly, touching a reverent finger to the hat brim.

Wetting her lips, she followed the path of his finger across the satin as she murmured, “Well, obviously you broke in. It's happened before.”

He tsked her. “No, no, no. You know where I came from. You believe, or did, for at least a moment. That's why it didn't work at first. You just thought me crazy until you saw….”

He gestured vaguely to his scarf covered neck and Emma couldn't help but remember the gnarled scar.

“You are crazy,” she told him, but put no venom into the accusation.

Jefferson chuckled. “Only a little,” he said lightly, then winked at her. “Stand back.”

With that, he grasped the hat and, with a practiced flick of his wrists, sent it twirling. He darted back to the wall while Emma remained in the kitchen area, wondering how long they were going to play….

Oh, shit.

Originating from the hat, a whirling dervish opened in the floor. It was beautiful in a way and she felt her hair fluttering. Feeling drawn to it, she took a step forward….

“No!” Jefferson yelped, scurrying along the edge of the room until he reached her side and placed a restraining hand on her arm. “If you get too close it will pull you in.”

“How is this possible?” she wondered aloud, so shocked she didn't try to put any distance between them.

“Magic,” he replied, thumb brushing the smooth, soft skin at the crook of her elbow. “Your magic.”

The last two words were breathed practically against her ear as the whirlpool collapsed into itself, leaving a wobbling hat in its wake.

Turning to face him, Emma asked, “That actually happened, didn't it?”

She wobbled a bit herself, prompting him to grip her tighter and steer them over to the couch. When they were settled there, he answered, “Unless you think crazy is contagious, yes, it did.”

This changed…everything. “Henry’s book!” she gasped, lurching forward to snatch it up from the coffee table. “So you're really the Mad Hatter?”

He pursed his lips. “My name is Jefferson…but yes, I am the Hatter.”

“Your daughter….”

He shook his head sadly. “As I said before, I would never do anything to harm her. The curse that brought us here has affected our home as well. The forest is…frozen, I suppose would be the word. I can't bring Grace there until the curse is broken.”

Emma took a breath as he peered at her, hope and sincerity shining in his eyes. Her hands tightened on the book. “You think I'm the one who break it. How?”

“I have no idea,” he admitted, still close, so close. “But I'll help you figure it out.”

Placing the storybook down on the table, Emma gazed at the cover. If she hadn't already begun to believe, tonight's revelations would've shocked her even more. As it was, she was almost amused that it was the actual crazy person who finally convinced her that Henry's tale of curses and other worlds was real.

“Smiling suits you,” Jefferson said, brushing lock of her hair back behind her ear, fingers stroking along her jaw line.

She leaned into his touch without thinking and met his gaze. Jefferson's eyes were soft (bedroom eyes) and her heart seemed to skip a beat when his lips parted slightly, revealing a glimpse of even white teeth and the pink tip of his tongue.

Not breaking eye contact, Emma reached up and touched her fingers to the neatly wrapped scarf guarding his throat. Silently, she asked for permission and, though she could feel his heart rate jump, he nodded almost imperceptibly.

Gently, she unwound the scarf, revealing the scar he kept so carefully hidden. Considering what it implied, she thought it had healed well. The cut was clean and thin, of reddened, a regular line of skin transacting the slender column of his throat.

His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed and Emma lifted a finger to touch the scar. In contrast to the lightly stubbled skin higher on his neck, the scar was oddly smooth. His breath seemed to catch as Emma let her fingers slide around the nape of his neck and bury themselves in his hair while her some continued to caress the scar. 

It was impossible to say who leaned toward whom, closing the small gap between them, maybe they both did. Their mouths met, a barely there brush of lips, enough for her to register the softness and warmth of his mouth. She knew she should pull away, but when she felt him tilt his head, letting his parted lips gently encase hers, that thought quickly fled.

A little moan escaped her when he pulled away, not going far, simply resting his brow against hers, puffs of cinnamon scented breath hitting her lips. She opened her eyes slightly to see what was going on, but as their eyes met, she was lost, hands roving and lips crashing together once again. It wasn't a soft kiss, but one full of hunger, passion and need. She could feel the rumble of a moan in Jefferson's chest as she moved her lips against his, pressing herself closer, shifting on the tiny couch for better access.

One of his hands fisted in her hair, and something warm and wet nudged her bottom lip. Emma opened up to him without thought, giving in to the hunger they both clearly felt. His hands became braver with every brush of their tongues, gliding down her back to dip beneath the waistband of her jeans. All her senses seemed to be on overdrive and the fire that had been burning through her veins kept pushing for more. She wanted more. 

Emma kissed him harder, pushing him back into the cushions as she moved to straddle his lap. His hands moved to grip her waist and he let out a stuttering groan when she rolled her hips, experimentally pressing down on him. Even through the layers of their jeans, she could feel his arousal, straining up towards her and that knowledge brought a flush to her cheeks.

Gathering her resolve, she pulled her lips from his. "Jefferson," she said, voice soft, barely above a whisper. "It's been a long day. Bed. Now."  
"I can do that," he replied, and she couldn't resist closing her lips fleetingly on his bottom lip. It was just there, so close, and she hadn't even had to move, just clasp her own lips around it and give the tiniest bit of suction.

He responded with a tiny moan that seemed to cause a significant number of Emma's higher brain functions to go off line. Reaching up with one hand, he buried his fingers in her hair and tilted her head to the side, fusing their mouths together. His tongue slid into her mouth, tasting her, ghosting over hers, flicking the roof of her mouth. She met his actions with her own, stroking and tangling and teasing. He groaned and, sliding his hand from her hip around to the small of her back, pulled her against him, feeling her breasts press against his chest, her thighs parted around him, bringing certain portions of their anatomy into closer contact.

He held her like that for a long moment, and she enjoyed the feel of him breathing under her hands, hearing his heartbeat, strong and steady. Her fingers curled into his shirt, clutching the fabric and she shifted her head a little, kissing the side of his throat.

She heard his sharply indrawn breath, and then his arms tightened around her, startling her as he surged to his feet. She kissed Jefferson's throat again, which prompted him to lower his head and kiss her in return. He was kissing her like a man who really meant it, tongue hot and insistent, hands on her back, holding her close. His body felt solid and warm against hers and she shifted her weight, stance widening slightly and he slid his muscled thigh right between hers. She could feel the proof of his desire, hard and hot, against her hip. She moved against him urgently, and a low groan rumbled out of him.

Emma moaned with need and frustration and she thrust her hands up to short, dark hair, clutching him, kissing him harder. She felt surrounded by him, absorbed in his hot, eager mouth, his hungrily roaming hands and the distinct bulge pressing against her hip. She rubbed against his hard thigh, and he moaned again. His hands slipped down to her hips, his fingers curling into her ass, pulling her against him a little harder.

The friction of his thigh between hers felt good, and something deep inside her began to burn out of control. She whimpered, very softly, and he tightened his hands on her bottom, easily lifting her to allow her to wrap her legs around his waist. He pulled back fractionally from her mouth and murmured, "Bedroom?"

"First door on the left," she murmured, kissing from his throat to jaw to ear, and, as he carried her toward her bedroom, his lips were all over her face and throat, covering her in soft, warm, intense kisses that clearly conveyed how much he wanted her. His hands roamed over her hips, thighs and ass, caressing and squeezing, though he stumbled a bit when she rocked her pelvis into his.

She laughed slightly at this reaction, and, against her neck, she felt him smile in return. "Ha ha," he gave a good natured mumble, then she felt a jostle as his knees bumped into the side of her bed. His hands found firm purchase on her hips and pulled, causing her legs to release him.

Again, laughter bubbled up as he dropped her the short distance to the bed and she bounced slightly, allowing herself to drop back onto her elbows and look up at him.

He stood between her knees, dark pants and brocade shirt and vest a contrast to his pale skin and eyes. For a moment, he simply gazed down at her without saying a word, just smiling.

Growing impatient, Emma said, "Well? You just gonna stand there all night?"

That nice smile broadened and, in a quick motion, he was on top of her, weight supported on his forearms and body pressing hers down onto the mattress. Emma reached her hands around his sides and flattened her palms over his shoulder blades, able to feel heat, hard muscle and scarring through the thin cotton. Warmth swirled through her, melting her bones and her muscles, heating her skin, making her nerve endings spark. He kissed her again, tongue stroking hers, teasing and caressing, and she moaned, tightening her own hold on him.

She was caught up in their oral interaction that she jumped when questing fingers slid against her stomach, under her shirt and one rough digit stroked over her naval. "Jefferson," she breathed, somewhere between a gasp and a laugh and he chuckled.

"Has anyone ever told you that you have the cutest little belly button?" he asked, sliding down her body and using both hands to push her shirt up and bunch it below her breasts.

"Can't say they have," she replied, craning her neck up to look at him, but relaxing as he placed soft, warm kisses on the exposed skin of her stomach. It didn't seem like a particularly mind blowing gesture, but she allowed her eyes to close as tingles coursed through her body. Almost of their own volition, her hands shot up and tried to find purchase in his short hair. She breathed in, focusing on the scent of him, a scent that was intoxicating and unlike anything she’d ever experienced.

But whatever he was doing with his lips and tongue scrambled her focus in the best way. After an indeterminate amount of time, she felt his hands on her shirt again, and her urged, "Lift up."

She raised her shoulders up off of the bed and, together, they managed to pull her top up and over her head, tossing it somewhere to the side. His mouth brushed over the swell of her breast that rose above her bra, plain white cotton and she wished she'd chosen something a bit sexier that morning, but Jefferson didn't seem to mind. She shivered and said, "That's nice."

He lifted his head and grinned at her, a grin that somehow managed to be self-deprecating and arrogant all at once. She smiled back and gently kneaded the back of his head, encouraging him to return to his ministrations.

Jefferson's mouth caressed her breast, just above the edge of her bra, and warmth filled her veins. She moaned, squirming a little beneath him, and her fingers dug more deeply into his hair. His nimble hands reached underneath her, fumbling at the clasp. It didn't take long for him to get the clasp undone, and the bra fell open, allowing her to shrug it down her arms and send it the way of her shirt. She heard his sharply indrawn breath.

"Emma," he whispered. "You're beautiful."

She flushed, then felt silly that it was his words that caused the reaction, not the fact that she was lying underneath him, bare from the waist up.

Jefferson lowered his head and brushed a kiss over her nipple. Pleasure rushed through her veins, and she heard Jefferson's laughter, muffled since his mouth was still against her breast. His lips parted, warm and soft, and he began tonguing her nipple, very gently. A sudden rush of flame surged through her, and heat pooled between her legs.

"Yes," she moaned, hardly recognizing the sound of her own voice. "Yes, Jefferson."

Encouraged by her response, he drew her nipple between his lips and applied gentle suction. The heat between her thighs suddenly flared, and she quivered. She leaned her head back, closed her eyes, and moaned. It felt wonderful.

As he continued, his hand slipped down her abdomen, down over her trousers, and then his fingers delved right between her thighs. Her legs were already parted around his hips and he began to stroke her. Despite the denim in the way, it felt incredible.

"Ahhhhhh..." Her body arched, and she clutched at him, one hand pulling his mouth closer to her breast, the other twisting in his shirt.

"You're going to come for me," he whispered hotly against her breast. "You're going to come really, really hard."

Hearing Jefferson say that made her quiver harder. Her fingers dug into his shoulder. She felt the softness of cotton beneath her hand, and realized he was still entirely clothed, right down to the boots. They needed to do something about that.

His hand felt so good there, exactly what she needed, and yet...

"Off," she muttered, tugging awkwardly at his vest. The need to feel his skin against hers was growing more powerful.

"Not yet." His voice was barely more than a whisper of liquid sex. He moved away from her breast, up her body and spoke in her ear, his hands going to work on the button of her pants. "You first, Emma."

He wrestled with her boots, then eased her jeans off and tossed them aside. Now there was nothing between them but a flimsy barrier of cotton and his hand moved against her panties (also plain white cotton, but hey at least they matched her bra), gentle but relentless.

She shuddered violently, mind was filled with Jefferson, the scent of his skin, the low, sexy growl of his voice, the feel of his hand between her legs, stroking her...

Her body arched, hard, feeling like an electric current was running through her and she gave a helpless cry.

"That's it," he whispered. "Come for me, Emma."

Her muscles clenched, deep inside, and she felt little ripples of pleasure coursing through her veins. She was so close, so close...

_**Ring! Ring!** _

The sound of her phone ringing wrenched Emma from dreamland at the worst possible moment. She gasped, eyes roaming around her empty bedroom to land on the hat, sitting so innocently on the shelf.

“Oh yeah, this is healthy,” she mumbled to herself, running a hand over his face and reaching for the phone. “Sheriff Swan.”

Maybe work would take her mind off her… interesting dream.

* * *

Comments, pretty please?


	2. A Dreamer is One Who Can Find Their Way In Moonlight

It had been a long, stressful day to be sheriff of Storybrooke, Maine. Regina had been on a rampage, as someone had broken into her home and stolen something (of course she wouldn't say what had been taken) and she demanded Emma get it back.

Though there was no evidence, Regina insisted she knew who it done the crime and sent Emma off to interview Robbie Locke, the town locksmith (appropriate). According to Henry, Robbie was actually Robin Hood.

Robbie was also a young woman, which had been a surprise. She was pleasant and nothing indicated she'd had anything to do with the robbery, so Emma couldn't even bring her down to the station.

That had not made Regina happy.

So, by the time she got home, all Emma wanted was a long, hot, relaxing shower.

Well, maybe that wasn't _all_ she wanted, but it would do for a start.

She'd barely stepped into the clawfoot tab, warm mist hitting her skin before she even stepped under the spray, when she heard the bathroom door open behind her and smiled, signaling the arrival of the other thing she wanted.

Warm hands smoothed up her arms, dancing back down to grasp her fingers and help her step under the water. She would've commented, said something about his habit of appearing randomly in her home, but she really didn't want to discourage him. Instead, she turned to face him, wondering if he was going to join her.

The thought was thrilling, and she smiled to see him, already shirtless, hooking his thumbs under the waistband of his pants, tugging them down and revealing bare skin as his underwear went with them. Her breath hitched in her throat, nerves tingling as the water cascaded down her back. Emma couldn't tear her eyes away from him as he stepped into the shower with her and closing the curtain. Standing in the tub, wet and naked, the ache between her legs intensified. She could feel the tightening in her belly leap as he reached over her shoulder for something, water slick skin brushing along hers.

Her heart was thumping, she could feel it, hear the rush of it in her ears, drowning out the sounds of the shower. His was close, chest sliding against her pebbled nipples, sending pleasurable jolts pulsing through her.

"Miss me?" She wanted to say no, but she had. She tried to shake her head but only managed a very small movement from side to side. She was doing her best to lie but she felt so heavy with him pressing into her, skin to skin. "I missed you."

His admission helped her calm her down, as it made her feel a little better to know that things like this affected him too. Wrapping her hand around his arm, she backed up to stand under the steaming water and pulled him with her, their bodies never losing contact. She felt his excitement pressing into her belly, leaving no doubt in her mind that he was just as, if not more, turned on as she was.

She felt the water soak her hair, running over her as she fought to keep her eyes open. She wanted to see him, wanted to see what he looked like with water trailing over his body, glistening.

When a soft kiss landed on her lips she leaned in, enjoying the moment. The taste of water mixed with the taste of Jefferson making for an intoxicating experience. She squeaked in surprise when he broke the kiss, spun her around and pulled her back against his chest. She could feel him, hot and hard, against her water coated skin, a soft moan breaking through her lips at the sensation. The coil in her core tightened as she closed her eyes to enjoy the feel of him. If someone had told her a month ago that she'd be standing naked in her shower, Jefferson's hands caressing up her sides, she would've laughed her ass off, but now it just seemed wonderfully normal.

Sex in the shower was new for them, but she wasn't going to complain. A gasp filled the air as soap slick fingers gently squeezed her breast, soon followed by a foamy bath sponge that caressed her in small circles . Jefferson’s fingers kneading one breast as the other received the same treatment from a sponge had her hips shifting in an attempt to relieve the pressure that was building low in her belly. It didn’t work though, as the friction on sensitized her further. Her head fell back against his shoulder when he pinched at her nipple, drawing a long moan from her.

Tilting her face to look up at him, his soft eyes and lush mouth, she rose onto her toes slightly, back slipping against his chest, and caught his lips with her own, despite the slightly awkward angle. In no mood for soft and slow, the contact was heated, tongues dueling as his hands stilled for the moment. Reaching back, she dug her fingers into the strong muscles of his thighs, causing him to hum happily into his mouth.

Their mouths broke apart and she gazed into his eyes, dark with lust, filled with longing for more. That she could elicit such a reaction from him never failed to thrill her.

Without looking away from her, his hands continued what they’d earlier begun, leaving soapy trails across her skin that left her aching for more. He ran his hands over her arms, washing and massaging the long day from her skin and muscles. When his strong fingers released a knot of tension at her neck, she gasped and couldn't stop herself from pressing back into him.

He reacted to that with a moan of his own, pulling her close for a moment and pressing a kiss to the spot where her neck and shoulder met. His hands were low on her belly and she smiled, realizing he’d dropped the sponge. As one clever hand began to slide lower, her legs parted of their own accord, letting him dip his fingers between. She was sensitive to his touch, her eyes rolling back in her head as they both groaned, low and needy….

_“Good Morning, Storybrooke! The time is 6:00 am and this is Allan Forest with you daily dose of tunes to help start the day off right. First up we have Crazy by Gnarls Barkley….”_

As the music began to echo out of her clock radio, Emma covered her face with her hands and let out a muffled groan of frustration. This was the second night in a row she’d had a very explicit dream about Jefferson that had been interrupted before reaching any sort of completion. 

Not that she wanted to have those sorts of dreams about him, she told herself sharply. Nope, not at all…but if her subconscious was going to get her all worked up, it would be nice to get a little relief.

And, crazy or not, she couldn’t deny that Jefferson was unreasonably attractive.

Kicking aside the covers, Emma heaved herself out of bed and headed for a shower. A very cold shower.


	3. Dreams are illustrations... from the book your soul is writing about you

After a lot of coaxing, and will finally convince Jefferson to venture into town and join her for dinner at the diner. Since his reappearance, she'd taken to driving up to his home to check on him and they developed an odd, flirtatious friendship.

When they entered the diner, the steady hum of conversation fell into silence and all heads turned to gape at them. Jefferson had warned her that everyone in town thought of him as the eccentric hermit on the Hill, but this was ridiculous.

The meal had been…different, what with the stares (though people would return to their own conversations eventually) and Jefferson’s distaste for crowds. There had been a few bright spots though.

A young family had been seated in the booth behind them and the pigtailed toddler had continually stood on the bench to peer back at them. Jefferson had smiled delightedly and engaged her in an adorable game of peekaboo, clearly comfortable with children.

Emma had found his big eyed pleasure at the giant serving of Strawberry shortcake almost as enchanting.

When dinner had ended, she driven him back to his house (the fact that he didn't have a car still boggled her mind). It had been a pleasant evening and the food at Granny’s was typically delicious. Despite the staring, Emma was certain Jefferson had enjoyed himself just as much she had.

“Join me for tea?” he asked at the door, causing her to grin.

Considering me… inauspicious use of tea during their first meeting, it probably says a lot about their interesting senses of humor that tea had kind of become their thing.

Most of her visits ended with them perched on the couch in the sitting room, cups in hand. Sometimes she teased him, asking how in the world he managed to keep the white shag carpet so pristine, other times he told her about the Enchanted Forest. Once, he'd even played the piano for her.

Tonight, they chatted about nothing in particular, just enjoyed each other's company. Emma slipped off her boots so as to comfortably curled her legs up under herself while Jefferson allowed his longer limbs to sprawl out in front of himself. At some point, he began toying with the ends of her hair, his head rolling back on the cushions to gaze at her.

Staring back at him, Emma felt her breath catch in her throat. Sometimes she thought he seemed almost too…something to be real, but since she'd met him she'd come to question what was and what was not real. Sometimes she found herself wondering if maybe Henry and Jefferson weren't right, sometimes she wanted them to be.

Maybe madness was contagious.

“What's going on in your head?” Jefferson asked in a voice as soft as his eyes, fingers weaving a one-handed plait into her hair.

Emma closed her eyes and turned her cheek to brush against the back of his hand. She could feel him, so he had to be real.

“Just wondering if maybe I've gone a little crazy myself,” she replied with a sigh, feeling him shift closer.

She let out a soft sound when Jefferson raised his other hand to cup her jawline. “Hey,” he murmured, some ghosting softly over her cheek. Emma opened her eyes, meeting his blue gaze. “Have you ever stopped to consider that maybe what this world needs is a little more craziness? The good kind of crazy, I mean.”

He spoke so earnestly that she couldn't help but smile, thinking that yes, there was indeed some kinds of madness that she had grown more than a little fond of.

“I found some things about this world I like too,” he replied with a grin, which is when Emma realize that she voiced her previous thought instead of simply thinking it.

Emma felt a rush of heat flood her cheeks as she blushed, but any embarrassment was pushed aside when Jefferson leaned toward her, closing the small gap between them to press his lips to hers, a soft, gentle kiss that slowly shifted into a passionate one that went on and on and on.

She wasn't sure if she was the one to slide onto his lap or if he had pulled her there, but Emma did not protest, as this new position was one she found quite pleasant. As she moved against him, Jefferson's hands settled at her waist, squeezing gently in time with her motions.

Slowly, she unwound the scarf he always wore and pulled away from his lips in order to press a gentle kiss to the column of his throat. He tensed for a moment, then groaned as she ran her tongue over the raised scar, the reminder of his last trip to Wonderland. She could tell he liked the attention she was paying to the old injury, as his hips bucked up towards her every time her tongue played across the scar.

Feeling impish, she latched onto his throat, applying enough suction that she knew she'd leave a mark.

This time, he gasped and made a shuddering, whimpering sound. “You like that?” she questioned him one she released his neck.

“Yeah,” he murmured after a moment and she was little proud at how she seemed to effect him.

In response, she kissed his jaw and began a path toward his ear. He murmured her name, breathless, like he was gasping for air, but couldn't not say it. That thought was more than a little exciting and she smiled against his skin, taking a deep breath.

Jefferson smelled really nice, like pine trees and old books mixed with a healthy, natural, masculine scent. His skin tasted slightly of salt and she realized he was sweating a bit. Sweating because of her and what they were doing.

That realization made it hard for her to take a breath of her own. Emma could hear herself panting harshly, could hear her pulse rocketing in my ears. His hands slid up her ribs until they carefully brushed the swell of her breasts, causing her to make a sound of pleasure.

As he touched her, Emma wriggled on his lap, trying to create some friction where she most wanted it. Her jeans felt terribly constricting and she assumed it could only be worse for him. After one particularly aggressive grind, Jefferson's head fell forwards against her shoulder, shuddering and trying to pull himself together.

“Emma,” he growled, voice harsh in a way that sent a tingle through her. His hands wove into her hair, tipping her head back to seal his lips over hers. Their tongues brushed together, stroking in exploring in an intimate way. He tasted like the strawberries they'd eaten not that long ago mixed with…magic.

Her hands slipped up under his shirt and, exploring his chest and making him shiver. He reciprocated the gesture, though Emma knew he had a far easier time reaching under her tank top than she had fighting her way through all the layers he wore.

His skin was warm and smooth under her hands, a delicious contrast to his millinery calloused fingers that were currently dancing over intimate flesh. As her hips continued their motions, he rose up to meet her, over and over….

Part of her wondered why it had taken them so long to get to this point, because it felt so right.

Emma pulled back slightly, just inch or two, allowing herself enough space to attack the button at the top of his jeans. He busied himself freeing her from her own denim and soon there was nothing between them. She could feel the contours of his body, long lines of strong muscle and soft skin and, as she settled herself back onto his lap, she knew he could feel how hot and wet she was.

Jefferson growled again and pulled her close, somehow even closer than before. They rocked together, hips rising and falling in sync, hands frantically exploring newly exposed skin as they breathed each other's air.

When she sank down onto him (finally!), they both still for a moment, shuddering and overwhelmed by the sensation. Jefferson groaned into her mouth as they began to move again, pace rapidly escalating and growing more and more frantic.

Her hands clutched at him, nails digging slightly into his back. They moved in a hard, eager rhythm, both desperate for the release only other could give. One of Jefferson's hands slid down between them and unerringly found the little bundle of nerves that were crying out for his touch. As he rolled her click between his thumb and forefinger, Emma tightened her legs around his hips, back arching and she groaned….

“Emma?! Are you all right?”

Eyes flying open, Emma looked around, incredibly confused. Her body was still humming, flooded with hormones and desire, but she was no longer with Jefferson.

She was lying in her own bed, Mary Margaret standing nearby, peering down at her with a rather concerned expression. 

“What?” she gasped unhappily, trying to figure out exactly what was going on.

“You were having a nightmare or something,” Mary Margaret replied, teasing down at her. “I could hear you from the kitchen.”

Emma blinked up at her and bit back frustrated groan. Her skin felt sticky and sweaty and her body throbbed with unfulfilled lust. “I'm fine,” she reassured her friend. “Really. I just need a shower.”

She was totally contemplating buying one of those adjustable, massaging shower heads.


	4. Dreams are today's answers to tomorrow's questions

“Coffee? I promise, it's not drugged.”

That was how their second encounter began, on a park bench on a breezy spring day. Emma had been surprised to see Jefferson casually offering her a cup of Tim Horton’s coffee and beaming down at her, especially considering how their last meeting had ended.

She hadn't seen him since Mary Margaret had knocked him out the window. The only trace of him had been the damn hat, which she taken home with her.

The hat, which she later discovered, was no longer in her room.

Somehow, Emma couldn't bring herself to turn him away. She justified it to herself by reasoning that, while he was clearly disturbed, there was an air of aching sadness and loneliness to him that she couldn't deny.

Coffee led to dinners which led to visits to his home. Mostly, they talked and Emma kept an eye out for imminent psychotic breaks.

Sure, he talked about magic and the Enchanted Forest, but he seemed harmlessly crazy now. Still delusional, but non-violent.

Plus, he was sweet. He listened when she wanted to talk about something and didn't pry when she didn't. Every time she visited him, he lit up with delight and surprise.

It was nice to feel wanted.

They'd been friends for just over two months when it happened. After work, Emma had stopped by to see him, dinner in hand. The still had been delicious, flavorful broth and tender meat, but she'd come to expect that from Granny's cooking.

Sitting in front of the hearth (where they'd eaten), Jefferson had regarded her calmly said, “I’d like to show you my home.”

Though she'd already wandered through much the huge house, Emma nodded. “Sure.”

He grinned and clapped his hands together. “Wait right here,” he said, popping to his feet and hurrying from the room. Minutes later, he returned, holding the hat gingerly in front of him.

Shit. Another episode of psychotic delusions was clearly rearing its ugly head. She wondered if he'd gone off his meds…if he was even on any at all.

Before she could ask, he crouched and, with a practiced flick of his wrists, sent the hat twirling. He darted over to where Emma still sat, clearly expecting it to do something.

“Jefferson,” she began, “I really think….”

Originating from the hat, a whirling dervish opened in the floor. It was beautiful in a way and she felt her hair fluttering, the vortex drawing her towards it.

“Take my hand,” he said, reaching down to pull her to her feet. As though in a daze, Emma grabbed a hold of him and let him lead her toward the swirling maw.

“How is this happening?” she asked breathlessly and Jefferson laughed.

“You know the answer.”

“Magic,” she murmured, still half wondering when she’d fallen down the rabbit hole…well, fuck, that saying just took on a whole new level of meaning.

“Trust me,” he said and Emma found that she did.

Together they jumped into the vortex and Emma felt her stomach lurch at the falling sensation. Sooner than she expected, her boots landed on a beautiful, etched black granite floor in a room she never could have imagined.

The cavernous chamber appeared to be circular, walls draped in red velvet. Countless stores are visible and the lines on the floor seemed to connect them in a pattern beyond understanding.

Slowly, she turned the circle, mouth agape, before asking, “This is real?”

“It is,” Jefferson assured her, tugging gently on her hand. “Come.”

He led her to a wood frame doorway, pausing to gaze at her. “We have to stay together. Two go in, two come out. Hats rules.”

Emma could feel his pulse hammering in his fingers and she nodded, giving his hand comforting squeeze.

As his fingers breached the doorway, the rippling effect reminded Emma of the event horizon on that show Stargate and she held her breath as she followed him…stepping out into a forest.

Turning, she saw the doorway rested at the foot of an enormous tree. The landscape around them was lush and green, but unnaturally still. There were no bird calls, no rustling winds, no babbling brooks….

It was as though the entire forest had been frozen in a moment.

“This is home,” Jefferson said sadly, then pointed to a small patch of mushrooms. “Grace and I would gather those to sell at the market.”

“I still can’t believe….”

“Dammit, Emma! I brought you here! What more proof do you need?” Jefferson barked, frustration clear in his face.

Emma shook her head. “No, no, obviously I can see where we are, how we got here… It’s just a lot to take in.”

Her statement seemed to calm him and he stepped in closer to Emma. “Sorry. Being here just makes me miss what was even more,” he said, pain and longing bright in his eyes. “You have to understand, I spent twenty eight years alone in that house, looking out and seeing my daughter, my friends, living a life that wasn’t theirs. Making hats and driving myself even madder than anything the Red Queen and her men could have done….”

His voice trailed off as he gazed off into the distance and Emma’s heart ached for him. Though she wasn’t one to admit to liking pop music, a particular lyric came to mind.

__

That pretty much summed up the man in front of her. He was broken, but more whole than most people she knew. She wondered if the fractures in his mind where what allowed him to retain the knowledge of his life in the Enchanted Forest when everyone else had their true personas sublimated by whatever personality Regina assigned to them.

“Then you came to town,” Jefferson continued, dragging his eyes back to hers. “I knew, from the moment I saw you, that you were the one…Of course, I didn’t count on….”

There was something, a spark between them, one she’d felt since that dark night on the road. They had chemistry in spite of everything, in defiance of everything….

“What didn't you count on?” she asked, unable to believe she was asking him that question, standing in the middle of magical, time locked forest.

But she couldn't imagine a better place to do just that.

Jefferson's arms wrapped around her waist, drawing her even closer. She lifted her head, meeting his eyes as he spoke. “I didn't count on you being you,” he replied, fair skin glowing in the sunlight. “You…enchant me.”

Unable to help herself, Emma rose up onto her toes and pressed a kiss to his lips. It wasn't a move she thought out ahead of time, but she had to admit that it felt amazing.

Almost… Magical.

She leaned into him, bringing their bodies even closer as the kiss intensified. Her tongue slid over his lips and his mouth opened in an eager response, allowing their tongues to touch, shyly then with more confidence.

He tasted wonderful, like pomegranate and cinnamon candy with a hint of something exotic she couldn't identify. Emma deepened the kiss, wanting more and couldn't help but moan into his mouth.

That seemed to open the floodgates for him as he returned her kisses ferociously. He moved against her, sensuous and warm, his hands roaming over her body, exploring and eager.

Emma allowed her own hands to run over his vest. It was well cut and hugged his body, but she wanted more access. With nimble fingers, she undid all his buttons and unwrapped his scarf, baring his skin for her touch. She stroked his back, the long lines of lean muscle, causing him to let loose a moan of his own.

Their kisses grew more frantic and she buried her hands in his short dark hair as he grabbed a hold of her hips. She could feel him against her belly, hard and wanting, even through his jeans and that knowledge sent a spark of longing to her core. 

He bent at the knees, clearly trying to shift position a bit, to increase the friction between them and Emma hooked one of her legs around him.

“Jefferson,” she whispered, dragging her mouth to his throat and nipping gently at his scar. “Jefferson, oh, yes….”

The sound he made was somewhere between a choke and a sigh and his hands cupped her ass, easily lifting her. Emma wrapped her arms and legs around him, setting a hard, fast paced by rocking against him. His hips crashed against hers for several long moments before he made a frustrated sound and dropped to his knees.

His cheeks were flushed as he lowered her to the forest floor. They kissed again, smiling into each other’s mouths. One of his hands slid down the front of her body, flat against her belly. His fingers dipped lower and her breath came faster as he pressed against her. Her hips jerked and she bit down on her lip to keep from groaning again.

Her own fingers found the hem of her tank top and yanked it up over her head. For a few minutes, they wrestled with the remains of their close, shedding pants, boots and underwear until they were tangled together, bare flesh pressing up against bare flesh.

Letting herself relax back against the soft, mossy ground, Emma ran her fingers over Jefferson's chest in random patterns. He in turn stroked the soft flesh of her inner thighs before moving his hand to the apex of her thighs and rubbing her in slow, deliberate circles. She knew she was wet, very wet, and she trembled against his hand, breathing and harsh, rasping gasps.

She would've felt self-conscious, but he was in no better shape.

Emma reached down, wrapping her hand around his cock. At the first contact, he froze over her and shuddered, taking several deep breaths to steady himself before she guided him into her body. She felt her inner muscles stretching to accommodate him, a good burn, and wrapped her legs around him, encouraging him to sink further into her.

He was actively moaning now, a series of low sounds that contrasted with her higher gasps.

The skin of his back was slick with sweat as she ran the flat of her hand from his shoulders to his ass and squeezed. She quivered as he pressed forward, withdrew almost all the way, then thrust back in.

Her body arced beneath him and she dug her blunt nails into the soft skin of his flanks. 

“More,” she gasped and he was all too willing to comply, thrusts coming faster and faster, her hips rising to meet him in an increasingly desperate rhythm.

She could feel herself careening towards the edge, towards the desperately needed release….

**_Bang! Bang! Bang!_ **

“SHERIFF SWAN!”

Emma’s impending bliss was shattered by the sound of someone pounding on her door and shouting her name. It took a moment for her addled mind to realize it was Regina.

Lovely. The last person she wanted to deal with while frustrated.

On a lighter note, Regina's presence would probably serve in a similar capacity to the cold showers she'd been taking for the last few mornings.


	5. Don't be pushed by your problems. Be led by your dreams

Enough was enough!

The occasional naughty dream was one thing (she rather enjoyed when Chris Evans or Robert Downey Jr. popped up in a fantasy and that time when both of them appeared was still one of her all-time, top three fantasies), but this was ridiculous. Night after night, one infuriatingly unfinished erotic romp after another…all starring the same man.

Not a movie star.

Not an athlete.

Not even some idiot from a reality TV show.

No, her subconscious had latched on to Jefferson, the hot but clearly disturbed guy who had taken Mary Margaret and herself hostage in an attempt to force Emma to make a magical hat for him. A hat which now lived on a shelf in her room.

Yes, the object of her lustful fantasies thought he was The Mad Hatter…though he didn’t seem to like being called that.

Obviously, she had some unresolved issues with the man and, since he’d not been seen since Mary Margaret kicked him out a window, Emma resolved to do some digging.

The general consensus amongst the townfolk was that he was the harmless, eccentric hermit who lived alone in the huge house on the hill. He had his groceries delivered and she could count the number of people who’d ever spoken to him on one hand (with fingers to spare). Archie had never met him, which meant whatever delusional psychosis he suffered was going untreated.

Then, one day, the damn hat went missing from the shelf she kept it on, for some reason unable to dispose of it.

Intent on finding some clues as to Jefferson’s location, Emma made her way up to his house. Though the front door was unlocked, the interior was dark and she fumbled until she found the light switch.

Everything looked as it had the last time she’d been there, high-end furniture and décor unchanged, though someone had repaired the shattered windows.

Emma froze when a thump from upstairs echoed through the ceiling. After a moment, she began toward the staircase, climbing carefully, in search of the noise.

As she stepped into the hallway, the first strains of a song filtered out from one of the far doors, which was slightly ajar, spilling light into the darkened hall. The sounds of guitar and drums completely silenced her steps, already muted by the soft, slightly worn carpet. 

_When logic and proportion  
Have fallen sloppy dead  
And the White Knight is talking backwards  
And the Red Queen's "off with her head!"  
Remember what the doormouse said;  
“Feed YOUR HEAD...  
Feed your head”_

_How fucking appropriate_ , Emma thought, wondering if the choice in song was a coincidence. What were the odds of _White Rabbit_ playing as she searched the home of a man who thought himself to be The Mad Hatter?

As the opening chords of a new song began, Emma laid a hand on the door, swinging it open on silent hinges. An empty bedroom greeted her, as tidy as the rest of the hose…wait, no, there was a small pile of clothes visible just inside the open door that appeared to lead to the en-suite bathroom…

Out of which stepped the man she’d come here in search of. Shocked, their eyes met as he halted, not ten feet separating them.

Jefferson was clearly fresh from the shower, a towel wrapped around his slim hips. His dark hair was tousled and spikey, his skin glistened with lingering dampness. The scar that circled his neck seemed redder than it had been the last time she’d seen it, flushed from the heat of the shower.

She watched a drop of water trickle down from his collarbone, skirt by a pink nipple, trace flat, gently defined abs and finally be absorbed by the towel. For a moment, she stared mutely at the smooth skin stretched taut over his iliac crest, then dragged her gaze up to meet his.

Seemingly as flummoxed as she, he smiled and tried for bravado, asking, “Miss me, Princess?”

Before she could question herself, Emma crossed the distance between them. She knew she’d probably kick herself later, but weeks of _those_ dreams had left her wound tighter than a Swiss timepiece, desperate for…well, desperate for him.

Her sudden rush at him seemed to startle Jefferson, who backed into the wall, staring at her with wide eyes. “What…?” he began, but was silenced when Emma pressed her mouth firmly to his, grasping his jaw to hold him steady.

It took a moment for him to process what was happening, but soon he relaxed against her, lips parting to allow her to deepen the kiss. Things only intensified as he responded, caressing and battling her tongue with his own.

Releasing his face, Emma grabbed his shoulder, tugging him away from the wall and across the room before breaking the kiss. She could see emotions flit across his face, surprise and confusion at war with desire and arousal.

His blue eyes never left her as Emma stripped off her red leather jacket and tossed it to the floor, toeing off her boots as she made short work of her white tank top and bra. When she attacked the button of her jeans, tugging them (and her underwear) down her legs, she saw his gaze roam over her body, mouth open in shock.

Emma grinned at his reaction and stepped close to him, pulling his towel free and letting it fall with a damp thump. Gently, she ran her fingers over his hardening shaft, causing him to tremble and press toward her. She leaned into him, then released his cock and gave him a shove, sending him tumbling onto the bed, quickly following to straddle his hips.

Jefferson lay there, stunned into silence as Emma let her fingers caress his neck, stroking over his scar before drifting over his shoulders and down to find purchase in his chest. She leaned forward, inhaling the clean scent of his skin, tracing random patterns on his pecs with her nails.

As she explored him, Jefferson's expression shifted from startled to intrigued and a flush rose on his cheeks when she shifted her position, settling herself to trap his hardened member against the hot, wet proof of her own arousal. Almost as one, they shuddered at the pleasurable sensation.

Again, they kissed and this time Jefferson’s hands were not still, instead stroking her back, clever fingers dancing over her skin. In response, Emma moved her hips, creating slight friction, but she was so wet that their flesh slid smoothly together, only exacerbating her frustration.

When a calloused finger found its way between them, pressing and rolling the engorged button of flesh at her core, she left a choked gasp. Her pleasure spiked and the warm tingling in her belly gained in intensity as they moved in sync.

She knew she was close and, as their hips rocked together once more and he gave her clit another roll, Emma stiffened, crying out as the first waves her orgasm hit. Her muscles spasmed and surged as she clung to Jefferson, moaning softly as he brought her to completion.

Trembling, she collapsed on top of him, breath coming in ragged gasps as she rode out the shocks.

As she collected herself, Emma listened to the rapid heartbeat under her ear and tilted her head to peer up at Jefferson. His eyes were dark with lust and she could feel his arousal still pushing up against her, hot and hard and ready.

Rallying, Emma slid down his body, feeling him jerk and twitch against her belly then bob between her breasts. He shuddered when she gripped the base of the shaft. Meeting his eyes, she parted her lips, letting her tongue flick over the flushed head, before she closed them around him and hollowed out her cheeks.

That got an immediate reaction. Jefferson gasped, moaned and choked out something that might have been her name. His muscles trembled as he fought against the urge to thrust himself down her throat, a consideration Emma appreciated and she swallowed what she could, bobbing her head and feeling rather powerful.

He was sprawled before her, shuddering and vulnerable, murmuring incoherently in dazed pleasure. His breathing was harsh and coming faster, his hips moving slightly in aborted thrusts toward her.

She'd always thought him annoyingly attractive, but like this…he was actually pretty beautiful.

“Enough!” he finally managed to say, reaching down and grasping her shoulders, pulling her back up toward eye level. “Not like that….”

She knew what he meant and completely agreed.

He grabbed her hips, aligning their bodies as Emma attacked his neck with her mouth, marking him once again. Hers though, hers was a mark of lust, not pain, as in the case of the scar. In one strong motion, Jefferson thrust upwards, impaling her on his shaft. Emma gasped against his skin, meeting his motions eagerly and shuddering with his thumb once again found her clit.

As his thrusts grew quicker and his fingers rougher, Emma couldn't help but cry out. She felt ready to burst, the oversensitive little bud of nerves twitching as her inner walls stretched deliciously around his girth. His free hand found purchase in her hair, angling her head to bring their mouths together once again, tongues dueling in teeth nipping as they gasped together.

Faster and faster they moved, racing towards the edge, bed frame pounding against the wall. The arousal that engulfed her was almost painful, but so good, and, after what seemed like a delicious eternity (and no time at all), Jefferson's motion stuttered and he moaned, body stiffening as he came.

Whether it was in reaction to feeling him spill inside her or just good timing, Emma’s body clamped down around him as another intense orgasm hit. Their moans mingled, as entwined as their bodies.

Sated flesh still twitching, Emma collapsed atop Jefferson, who wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. Neither seemed inclined to move, content to enjoy a little post-coital cuddling.

Finally, it was Jefferson who spoke. “So, I'll take that as a yes.”

Emma couldn't keep in the snort of laughter bubbled up in her chest. “Yeah, I guess I did miss you.”

_I want to love you madly,  
I want to love you now  
I want to love you madly, way  
I want to love you, love you  
Love you madly…._

For the first time in quite a while, Emma awoke without the nagging feeling of sexual frustration. In fact, she was feeling pretty damn good, riding on a high of dream orgasm endorphins.

Plus, it was only her radio that woke her and not someone wanting something. Slapping the snooze alarm, she decided to save her the morning (and the lingering sensations of her dream) a while longer.


	6. You know you're in love when you can't fall aslepp because reality is finally better than a dream.

Despite all rational convictions, and found yourself coming around to Henry's absurd theories regarding who the denizens of Storybrooke really were. It had been impossible for her to deny, not after she'd witnessed a wormhole (originating in that damn hat!) open in her bedroom and disgorge Jefferson, over a month after his mysterious disappearance.

Allowed, rushing sound had woken her in time to witness the swirling maw emerge from the hat. She jumped free of her bed, shouting and alarm, which brought Mary Margaret stumbling in to check on her. They'd stood together, gaping, and watched in awe as Jefferson jumped free of the whirling vortex, landing with a slight stumble as the whirlpool collapsed in on itself.

In the silence of the room, Emma and Mary Margaret had stared at him, blinking and unable to form coherent thoughts. The crazy (wait, was he crazy?) man looked around at his surroundings, then smiled broadly. “You kept my hat!”

Emma couldn't believe that was the first thing that came out of his mouth. “What the hell was that? Where did you come from? How did….”

“Magic, Princess, but you already know that,” he replied, swiping a hand through the dark mess of his hair, dislodging grass and twigs. “If Snow promises not to toss me out a window again, I'll tell you everything. Well, everything I know.”

No one got any sleep that night, as Jefferson spent hours filling them in on the unbelievable truth. Mary Margaret was stunned to hear that, in another world, she was a kick ass, rebel leader version of Snow White and that Emma was her daughter. It was much easier to believe Regina was the Evil Queen, who’d cursed them all, ripping them from The Enchanted Forest and destroying their happy endings.

“Oh, we must be losing our minds!” Mary Margaret cried out, covering her eyes with her hands once Jefferson had finished his tale. Their story. “I mean, even considering this is crazy!”

“Any more crazy than denying what you seen with your own eyes?” Jefferson pressed, reaching out and gently prying her hands away from her face. “Does it feel crazy? Or does it feel right? The woman I knew, the one who inspired us to throw off Regina's rule, she trusted her intuition.”

That was the moment Operation: Cobra became a real movement. Henry had been delighted to meet Jefferson and even more excited to discover Emma and Mary Margaret finally believed him. August, who had been hanging around with Marco, soon popped up, thrilled and claiming his leg was no longer bothering him.

Of course, the fact that none of them had any idea how to break the curse was a bit of a letdown, but at least they were united. Jefferson added his insights, pointing out who in town had been allied with Snow & James (David’s true identity) and who had followed Regina.

The oblivious town folk went about their lives, no idea of rebellion was brewing. Only Jefferson’s more common presence in town had drawn any notice, but the rumor mill had simply decided he and Emma were dating. Since they spent so much time together, it just made sense to play into their assumptions.

Honestly, walking arm in arm or allowing him to put an arm around her at the diner was no hardship. As the weeks passed, Emma found herself growing more and more fond of him. Sure, he was odd, but he was sweet and he made her laugh and he cared.

Their cover story hadn't thrilled August, but he admitted it was a good worked in their favor.

Another boon had come in the form of David Nolan, who it showed up at Emma and Mary Margaret store one night, pale and shaken, thinking himself going insane. Apparently, he'd been having flashes of memory, memory he believed to be delusions, perhaps a result of whatever injury had left him comatose in the hospital, and yet… he somehow knew that didn't seem right.

A little prompting from Emma and Mary Margaret and one glance at Henry's book opened up the floodgates. He remembered.

While, in many ways, this was a wonderful thing, his increased contact with Mary Margaret set off Regina was happiness radar and the woman began paying unwanted attention to their actions.

Regina didn't need magic to cause havoc, something they already knew, but found themselves being reminded of one night. The fire that tore through Mary Margaret and Emma's apartment had been far too specifically disastrous and it was dumb luck that no one had been killed. Emma sustained a moderate burn to her left arm, while many of the other tenants, including Mary Margaret, suffered slight cases of smoke inhalation.

The fire department’s one truck was still combating the blaze, street full of onlookers and slightly shocky, smoke scented people now out of the home when cars began to arrive. News spread quickly in a small town, so more people arrived by the minute.

Regina made an appearance, making sure to announce how happy she was that no one had been hurt, though Emma and Mary Margaret felt the chill of her gaze. It dispelled any doubts they had about her involvement. The woman wanted them dead.

When David arrived, frantic, he threw his arms around Mary Margaret and relief. Emma could practically see the waves of loathing radiating off of Regina at that site. Personally, Emma thought they were kind of adorable…though it was still very strange to think of them as her parents.

“Emma!”

She'd been surprised to hear Jefferson's voice, high with fear, through the crowd. His house was far outside of town and there was no way he could've heard the sirens. Maybe he'd been watching through his telescope. Though she wouldn't say it aloud, Emma felt a rush of warmth, knowing he was nearby, knowing he cared enough to come check on her.

“I'm here,” she calls, spying him through the mass of onlookers. “Hey!”

The relief on his face was palpable. He closed the distance between them quickly, hands landing on her shoulders, then moving to cradle her injured arm. “Oh, thank the…I thought…You’re hurt, but okay, right?”

Eyes locked on his, Emma nodded, “I’m okay. Really. Just a little….”

That was when it happened.

Seeming to shook even himself, Jefferson leaned toward her, pressing his lips to hers in a kiss full of caring, desperation, relief and love. Her hands came to rest on his chest, returning the kiss. Soft and gentle slowly shifted into a long, passionate embrace that went on and on and on. Emma forgot about the fire, forgot about the crowd around them, forgot everything except the wonderful, strange man holding her so reverently. 

Love.

You'd of thought someone would have considered that.

In the storybooks, wasn't it always a kiss that broke the evil curse?

Standing in the dark street, Emma and Jefferson hadn't even been aware of the shift around them… not until the confused, excited and anxious cries permeated their little bubble. They broke apart, holding each other close even as they looked around in askance. 

“No, no, no!” Regina snarled, a whirling on Emma. “You! I should have taken care of you the moment I saw….”

“Stay the hell away from my daughter!” Mary Margaret declared, stepping in front of, and staring at Regina with loathing. “You've lost again.”

Regina's hand shot out as though to slap Mary Margaret, but the smaller woman blocked the strike before delivering a far more effective roundhouse of her own, sending the Mayor's sprawling. Several townsfolk, including Leroy and Ruby, grabbed her, pinning her arms behind her back.

“The dungeon, till we can decide what to do with her,” David said, which caused Emma to blink at her surroundings.

The men and women around her looked no different than they had moments before, though there were even more of them…and children…and they weren’t in Storybrooke. They were standing in the courtyard of a massive castle.

“Daddy!”

“Grace!”

As the little girl flung herself at her father, Emma stepped away from Jefferson, only to have Henry crash into her from the right, shouting, “You did it.”

Though this was what they'd been hoping for, Emma couldn't believe it had actually happened.

It was incredible.

Also incredible, the spur of the moment celebration thrown in the castle. Everyone had a reason to rejoice, delighted to be home, to be reunited with their families, to be happy. The party went on for two days.

Standing on her balcony (imagine that, she had a room with a freaking balcony), Emma let her hands rest on the stone rail, staring up at the star filled sky as she took deep breaths of the cold night air. Mary…Snow and James (she was so not ready to call them mom and dad) had insisted on offering rooms to those who didn't live in the vicinity of the castle and, as their daughter, Emma had been given a lovely suite.

Late in the night, the revelry finally easing, the castle was quiet. A cool breeze stirred the gauzy fabric of the long nightgown she'd found in an armoire. Even considering the chaos of the last several days and her lack of sleep, Emma couldn't unwind.

Having gone from small-town sheriff to evil-curse breaking Princess in a matter of days was not conducive to relaxation.

Not to mention the fact that her room was freezing.

With that thought, Emma sighed and turned, stepping back into her opulent room. She glanced at the four poster bed before striding to the door and yanking it open, jumping, startled by what she found on the other side.

Jefferson stood there, hand up, prepared to knock on the now open door. He grinned at her. “Hello, there. Wanted to let you know that Grace, Hansel and Gretel are having a slumber party with Henry.”

In a few years, such a slumber party wouldn't be so easily agreed to, but for now it was cute.

“They all seem to be getting along,” Emma commented, then stepped back. “C’mon in.”

When she'd opened the door, she'd intended to go looking for Jefferson, so his arrival was convenient. Since that first, magical kiss, they hadn't had much opportunity to be alone, to address whatever was happening between them. 

Not that she really wanted to talk about it…she’d always been a woman of action.

He stepped into the room and Emma saw his eyes flicker down, taking in her rather out of character attire as she closed the heavy oak door. A little smile tugged at his lips. “Nice,” he commented, waving a finger at her frock. “I like the bow.”

He was teasing her, of that she was sure. The gown she wore was pale blue cotton, empire cut  
with a low neckline and fluttery, cap sleeves. The bow in question (pink) sat just below her bust,  
emphasizing it.

“It was the least…frilly thing in that closet,” she commented flatly, plucking at the long skirt. “Apparently my style doesn’t translate to local fashions.”

“You can always ask one of the palace tailors to make you something more to your liking. They lived in the other world for 28 years like everyone else, so it's not like a pair of jeans would completely confuse them,” Jefferson reasoned, then nodded at her bare arms. “You might look into a robe if you're going to keep the room this cold.”

Turning to the fireplace, Emma glared. “The fire is burning, but this damn room is drafty or something. Those big windows leech all the heat out!”

Jefferson let out an amused chuckle and strode across the room, untying the heavy cord that held the thick velvet drapes away from the floor to ceiling glass doors that led to her balcony. With a familiar ease, he loosened the fabric and tugged the curtains closed, insulating the room. It would take some time for the chill to abate, but at least Emma now knew the room would eventually become comfortable.

“I would've thought of that,” she replied with a self-deprecating shrug and drifted over to sit on the edge of her bed. “But I'm used to luxuries like central heat and such.”

“Welcome to life in this world,” he joked, prodding the fire with the poker. “My cottage is smaller, much easier to heat, but the principal is the same. Keep the windows covered.”

Emma couldn't help but think she'd be far more comfortable in a cottage than she was in this enormous castle. A cottage sounded much less intimidating.

As she was lost in thought, Jefferson stepped over to her side and laid a hand on her goose pimpled arm. His fingers were deliciously warm and soft, save for the needle calloused pads, and she found herself leaning toward his touch. “You’re freezing!” he said, settling down beside her to wrap an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.

She tipped her face up as he looked down at her, their gazes locking as he reached up, brushing a knuckle over her cheek. She shivered again, this time it had nothing to do with the cold. In response, Emma lifted her own hand, sliding her fingers into his hair, their close contact allowing her to feel his answering shiver.

Emma didn't know how his hair managed to stand on end, so artfully disheveled and yet she could feel no stiff styling product, just soft, thick hair that felt wonderful under her fingers. It felt so good to touch his hair, she wanted to touch everywhere. She was fairly certain he wouldn't object, as his arms wrapped tighter around her waist, drawing her against his chest, where she leaned her head.

“Jefferson,” she whispered. “I should probably go to sleep.”

She didn't want to say it, but felt she had to. He sighed against her, bending his head and breathing in her scent. “Okay,” he replied, making no move to release her. Instead he simply rolled backward, pulling her with him on to the pillows.

“Make yourself comfortable,” she quipped, as he groped around for the blankets, pulling them up over both of them.

“Just trying to keep you warm,” he murmured into her hair, causing her to smile and cuddle against him more closely. His arm draped around her waist, her back pressing to his front, she was the little spoon to his big spoon. 

It only took her a moment to realize her bottom was pressed right against a very obvious sign that he was enjoying her proximity as well. That knowledge caused the warm heat to flare deep in her belly and she knew her breathing hitched. All of those dreams she'd had came flooding back as she envisioned his hands all over her body. Erotic, vivid romps that occurred only in her mind suddenly seemed quite possible.

She wanted him to touch her and, as though he could read her mind, his hand moved slightly rubbing over her flat belly.

Emma's heartbeat spiked as he began to caress her stomach through the soft fabric of her nightgown. In response, she shifted her hips, rolling her ass against him deliberately, causing his hips to hitch forward ever so slightly against her.

Leaning closer, Jefferson pressed a wet, open mouth kiss against the spot where her neck met her shoulder and his hands drifted lower. When he reached her thigh, his fingers moved, gathering her dress higher and higher until his fingers met flesh. Emma drew a quick breath as his palm slid upward ever so slowly, creeping up under the fabric.

She jumped a bit when he first brushed the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, but she parted them in invitation and he continued mapping a path toward the core of her body. When he stalled, fingers drawing random shapes high on her inner thigh, she began to tremble and move against him, restless. Behind her, she heard his breathing catch and she felt him move against her with more intent as his thumb finely pressed against her aching core.

His fingers moved in leisurely circles, doubtlessly feeling how hot and wet she was, even through the fabric of her panties. She wanted him to move faster, to slide his fingers beyond the elastic and thrust into her body until she came with a cry, but he seemed intent on setting a maddeningly slow pace.

Trying to urge him on, Emma moved against him, rubbing against him, certain he had to want to free his erection. She could feel him straining toward her, a bar of hard heat beneath thin leather. His hand moved faster and suddenly Emma found herself writhing against him, shuddering and gasping as her orgasm hit her in a rush.

Vaguely, she was aware of his deft fingers coaxing her through the aftershocks until she collapsed, boneless, back against his chest. Her breath came in heaving gasps as she reached behind herself and stroked his cheek. Though earlier she would've thought it impossible, Emma realize her skin was covered in a fine sheen of sweat and she didn't feel cold in the slightest.

After resting for a moment, she rolled in Jefferson's arms, facing him with a contented smile. He was grinning back at her, though a groan ripped free from his throat when she hooked a leg around his hip, pressing their lower bodies together. Unlike her, he hadn't found a release yet and her hands drifted south, intent on rectifying that situation.

“Not yet,” he said, catching her wrists and resting his brow against hers. “It's been… a long time and I don't it be over yet.”

Before she could assure him that, even if things ended quickly now, they could always try something different during round two, Jefferson kissed her, full of passion and heat. Emma sighed into his mouth and caressed his lightly stubbled cheek. For several minutes, that was all they did, losing themselves in each other until he broke away, staring at her and said, “You are exquisite.”

Emma knew she was a wreck, hair a mess and body slick with sweat. Not at all exquisite in her mind…but he was an odd duck.

An odd duck who was lowering his head and tracing a warm path along her throat with his tongue, finding every sensitive spot with an earring accuracy. She smiled as he caressed his way down her throat, licking at her skin as though she were a rare and delicious treat. His tongue slid over her collarbone, finding an incredibly sensitive spot, left bare by the loan neck of her down. Emma gasped and held him against her, hoping he would do it again.

His fingers worked into the neckline of her nightgown, tugging gently and allowing her breasts to pop free. He stared for a moment, eyes drinking her in and Emma opened her mouth to urge him on, but forgot what she was going to say when his lips grazed a bare nipple. A shot of pleasure burns through her, renewing the throbbing warmth between her legs. Jefferson's tongue trailed circles around her nipple, and she could feel it tightening further with each passing second. Heat pooled in her core, and warmth and need pulsed between her legs. She clutched at him, head dropping back as he switched his attention to the other bud.

Finally, with a last kiss to the side of one breast, he tried to work his way further down her body, but was impeded by the fabric of her dress. He made a sound low in his throat that reverberated against her and they tussled slightly, wrestling her dress off before he slid further down her body, pressing a kiss against her belly. Her hands tightened in his hair as his lips and tongue traced a path over her stomach, tongue dipping into her navel, and act which caused Emma to hiss and gasp.

Jefferson's hands slid from her hips to the small of her back, gripping her ass two-tailed her pelvis up. He sucked a red mark on her hip bone, then paused, letting his cheek against her belly and gazing up at her. 

Emma smiled at him and ran her finger over his lush lower lip. She was surprised when he caught the digit between his teeth nibbling slightly before releasing her. One of his hands worked its way between her legs, causing her to whimper as his fingers played against her over sensitized skin, the thin layer of her panties doing nothing to dull the sensation. He was making those low, throaty sounds of desire again and she realized he liked feeling her move, feeling her react to what he was doing to her. 

"Jefferson," she muttered, trying to ignore the need that throbbed insistently between her legs and made it difficult to form a sentence. "Please, just…more…harder…."

She felt an almost unbearable heat as his fingers moved faster, pulling desperate sounds from her as her inner muscles pulsed and throbbed in response. Just as she thought she was going to explode, he pulled his hand away, causing her to moan in disappointment.

Then she felt him tugging at her panties, sliding them down her legs in one smooth, fast motion. As she lay there, there before him, she realized he was still fully dressed, but was unable to comment as he leaned toward her, his lips brushing over intimate flesh, tongue flicking out and tasting her.

Emma whimpered, stroking his hair, encouraging him as his fingers parted her and his tongue stroked her thoroughly, long, slow passes that made her tremble. A cry of pleasure burst from her throat as he teased her, bringing her to the edge of orgasm, then moving away from her clit. It felt like he was everywhere, his hands his tongue, working to drive her insane.

"Please..." The word fell from her lips unbidden. "Please, Jefferson."

His tongue played over her aching bud again, sending a shot of nearly painful pleasure through her. There was something intoxicating about having him so focused on her, all that potentially manic intensity honed to a fine point.

A nimble finger stroked at the entrance to her body, sliding through her arousal and dipping inside. Her muscles clenched eagerly around him, and she groaned, desperate for him. She was slick and his fingers slid easily, so he withdrew, adding another. After several slow thrusts, the third finger joined the others and he set a rhythm in time with the flex of his tongue over her clit. After all the teasing, it was so good, but she wanted more…more….

She nearly solved with relief when his tongue began to move harder, faster, his hand matching the movements. It only took a few pounding thrusts before something ignited inside her and she threw her head back, thrusting her hips against his mouth as her spine arched and she shouted her release.

Over the sounds of her cries, she heard him moaning against her, felt the vibrations on oversensitive flesh. Before she'd even come all the way down from her orgasm induced high, Emma found herself grabbing at Jefferson's shoulders, dragging his shirt up and over his head before lunging toward his pants, unfastening them and shoving them down his hips.

His cock sprang free, flushed a deep pink, purpleing head glistening with pre-cum. Memories of her explicit dreams ran through her mind and she thought of what it going to be like, having the real thing inside her, filling her, stretching her….

So much better than fantasy.

Not wasting any time, she wrapped her fingers around him, reveling in the velvet soft skin and steely firmness of him as she began to stroke him, some playing over the plump head. His hips jumped and his erection jerked in her palm. He whimpered, which only encouraged her to stroke faster, and she saw pearly little beads forming at the tip.

She licked her lips and he moaned, a more desperate sound than any she'd heard so far. Realizing that he was staring at her mouth, she smiled and bent down to run her tongue over him, collecting those little drops of pre-cum. His head fell back on the pillows and he made a few incoherent sounds as she continued to carefully caress him, tongue dipping into the slit at the tip. She could tell he was trying not to jerk his hips towards her mouth, a consideration she appreciated as she opened her mouth and sucked lightly on the head of his cock.

He gasped, sounding both thrilled and surprised and he raised one hand to bury his fingers in her hair, not forcing anything, just indicating his enjoyment. When she took more of him into her mouth his back arched and he made frantic sounds that have her smiling around him.

Now who was driving who to the brink?

“Emma, Emma, Emma….”

She seemed to have short-circuited the wires in his brain and the only word he could manage was her name. He spoke at between clenched teeth before releasing her hair and grabbing her under the arms, hauling her back up his body until they were eye to eye. There she could see the desire, the lust, the love shining out at her.

She settled herself over him and he caught her hips, positioning her just so before he thrust up, sinking deeply into her eager body. She gasped and cried out, inner muscles stretching around him as he stilled, waiting for her to grow accustomed to his presence. It didn't take long before she smiled.

So much better than fantasy.

She clasped her hands around his arms and urged him to begin moving again. He did so eagerly, thrusting up to meet her, motions hard and fast. He was close; that much was obvious and she could feel him twitching and shuddering deep inside her body. Her own muscles reacted, spasming around him and wrenching groans from his throat.

“Emma…”

His voice sounded hoarse and rough and he lunged up, latching onto her breast even as she rose up onto her knees, then allowed herself to fall, hard, burying him so deep inside her. He was murmuring against her skin as she continued to move, riding him as hard as she could stand. Moments later, she felt a burst of heat and she cried out, a final, intense, toe curling orgasm.

The contractions of Emma's body pushed Jefferson over the edge and he came too, nearly sobbing her name as his entire body shook beneath her.

Together, they rode out the aftershocks until she collapsed on top of his chest and they both gasped for breath. Lying there, a sense of peace settled over her. She was totally and completely satiated, her nerves humming with joy.

Sleepily, she raised her head to look at Jefferson. He met her gaze, blinking back in contentment and smiling at her so softly.

As he brushed a damp lock of hair back from her face, she murmured, “I guess it's true then. All fairy tales end with a kiss.”

He blinked at her gathering her close and kissing her cheek. “End? I say this tale was just beginning.”

A broad smile crossed Emma's face as she rested her cheek against his shoulder.

Their fairytale was just beginning.

She liked the sound of that.

* * *

Comments, pretty please?


	7. An Alternate Ending ~ Jefferson's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Can anyone write a fanfiction of Jefferson missing Emma so badly that he can’t sleep til he sees her again? Song inspiration, _Arms Around Me_ by Tyrone Wells.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _You're driftin' in and out of my dreams,  
>  am I driftin' in and out of yours?  
> Why do we come stranded on your shore,  
> frozen at your door?_

Even before his time in Wonderland had… damaged his psyche, Jefferson knew he’d had a tendency toward obsession. 28 years trapped alone in a house in a strange world had only honed that natural skill. His life consisted of watching others from afar, berating himself for ever leaving Grace in the first place and the more than occasional bouts of manic hat making.

Then Emma Swan had come to town and things had changed. He had been certain she could make a hat work, that she could open a portal home….

Okay, the whole hostage thing hadn’t been well thought out, but honestly, he hadn’t meant any harm. He was, admittedly, out of practice when it came to normal, human interaction.

Perhaps the slight concussion he received when he’d been kicked out the window (thank goodness for conveniently placed bushes) had shaken something loose in his head (or back into place), but he hadn’t been able to get Emma out of his mind. He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help but think about her…and the dreams….

Oh, the dreams.

When his dear Alice had died, he’d closed himself off to even considering becoming intimate with another woman, instead choosing to devote himself to being the best father he could be. In 38 years, there hadn't been a woman who truly sparked his interest, not until Emma Swan, glowing with magic and so much more.

Every time he closed his eyes to rest his racing mind, he saw her, dreamt of being with her and woke with the phantom taste of her on his lips, the remembered scent of her on his skin.

What made things worse was the fact that he knew the odd connection he felt her wasn't simply the product of his imagination. From the moment they'd met, there had been a spark. He could tell she'd felt it as well. Though, in the end, she'd whacked him upside the head with his telescope, she had meant much of what she'd said when they were discussing their children.

She understood…at least part of what drove him.

And he'd seen the look in her eyes when his cravat had been ripped loose, when she'd seen the ugly scar on his throat.

For one brief, shining moment, she had believed him.

Of course she immediately rationalized everything and backtracked into the more familiar land of denial, but the moment of belief had occurred.

There was hope.

Weeks of dreams had him practically climbing the walls and, finally, he decided he had to do something drastic.

He had to venture into town to see Emma.

As he had told Emma, having knowledge of both worlds was painful. He failed to expand on the fact that he actually had to fight to remain in control; fight to push back the personality Regina’s spell had created for him.

In this world, he was supposed to be a psychological/emotional wreck, antisocial, Agoraphobic and schizophrenic. No family, no friends, no contact with others. Mind numbing medication was delivered to his door weekly with bags of groceries, so nothing interfered with his isolation.

Even though, since Emma's arrival, he could leave the house, to do so he had to fight against the fabricated voices in his head that protested even the thought. Walking through the woods to the empty road had been bad enough, but going into town….

It took him several days to work up the internal resolve, but eventually he managed and took the long walk into town. He wished he had a horse (or even a car, though he had only the vaguest idea of how to drive one), as it was quite a hike. The further he got the house, the quieter the voice in his head became and the clearer his own thoughts were.

Perhaps the other personality had simply become catatonic due to the shock of the trip.

Whatever the reason, it was a great relief to be alone in his own head.

Since it was the middle of the day, most people were at work and he only saw a few people as he wandered further into town. On Main Street, he saw Red sweeping the sidewalk in front of Granny’s diner. She gave him a curious smile and waved, but that was the closest he came to direct interaction until he stepped into the Storybrooke Sheriff's office.

Emma was sitting at her desk, doing paperwork, and looked up as he entered. Surprise registered on her face…surprise and something else he couldn't quite place. “What are you doing here?”

Closing the door behind himself, Jefferson was careful to keep his distance, knowing she'd be wary. Leaning back against the wall, he regarded her evenly. “I'm here to see you.”

“Since I'm the only one here, I figured as much,” she replied, eyes locked on him. “How did you survive the fall?”

That wasn't the question he expected, but it was easy enough to answer. “I landed in a bush.”

Emma blinked. “A bush?”

“A bush.” He shrugged slightly and gave her a rueful grin.

A snort escaped Emma and she said, “Okay, so why are you coming to see me now? I can't make your hat work.”

“Maybe you can, maybe you can't,” he said, venturing a few steps further into the office. “But I'm here because…I had to come, had see you again.”

She swallowed, teeth worrying her lower lip. He was glad to see that she didn't seem afraid, just curious and softened his expression to a more natural smile.

“I was thinking about coming up to check your house,” Emma admitted. “I have some questions.”

“If I have answers, I'll give them freely,” he said, then tipped his head slightly to one side. “I also give my apology for my behavior during our lasting counter. It was quite unseemly. It was never my intent to harm anyone…I fear my social skills have atrophied from neglect.”

Emma blinked again, giving him a look he recalled from that night. He confused her, but she was intrigued. “You want to apologize?”

He nodded earnestly.

“Buy me lunch.”

That was how the two of them wound up sitting across from each other at Granny’s diner. Red gave Emma a big grin when she took their orders (meatloaf sandwich for Emma, lamb stew for him) and was none too subtle offering the Sheriff a thumbs-up.

As they ate, they discussed random things, keeping the conversation light and, when dessert was served, Emma finally had enough. 

“So…why did you _have_ to see me again?”

He was fully aware that admitting to obsessing over her would, more than likely, only reinforce her opinion that he was a bad, crazy man, but he couldn’t keep from saying, “I can’t get you out of my mind…or my dreams.”

Damn it.

He hadn’t meant to mention the dreams.

“Dreams?” she replied, voice higher than usual and chees flushing an attractive shade of red. “You’ve dreamt about me. What kind of dreams?” 

He knew his skin, fair as it was after nearly three decades indoors, blushed just as easily. Glancing down at the ripe berries that covered his dessert, he murmured, “Sorry. Didn’t mean to say that. Not the sort of thing one talks about in front of a lady.”

Wanting something to do other than speak, he grabbed a strawberry and quickly raised it to his mouth, biting down and savoring the flow of sweet juices on his tongue. He was surprised to see Emma’s eyes track the movement and she made an odd little sound when he licked a stray bit of pulp from his lower lip.

“A lady,” she mused, fingers curling around her napkin, scraping a nail along the stitching. “A lady probably wouldn’t admit to having those sorts of dreams herself.”

Jefferson had no idea how to respond to that and his mouth dropped open slightly in surprise. Emma just stared at him for a long moment before nodding as though she’d come to a decision. She rose, shaking him out of his stupor. “What are you…?”

She held up a hand to stop him and simply said, “Come with me.”

Unsure of what was going to happen, he never the less followed her. From his observations, he recognized her apartment building easily, but was slightly confused as to why she was…Oh.

It had been a long time, but some old memory surfaced and allowed him to identify the look in her eyes. His nerves jumped and he fought back the surge of fear that was attempting to overcome the hopeful anticipation. 

Emma was a woman on a mission and, the moment she locked the door behind them, she turned and stepped into his space, meeting his gaze directly. “Let’s make something clear right now,” she said and he took a quick breath when she laid a palm flat against his chest, “Clearly, there’s…something between us. Something we need to get out of our systems. That’s what this is.”

He barely had the chance to nod before she placed a hand on his jaw and leaned in, pressing her lips to his.  
The initial pressure was soft, but she quickly attempted to deepen the kiss and he shied away, not wanting  
to go too fast too soon. Undeterred, Emma’s lips moved against his, soft and warm, kisses growing longer.

Even the gentle contact sent a zing of energy through his entire body and he knew she had to be able to feel  
him, already hard, through the layers of their clothes. He pulled her closer still and she rocked her hips  
against his, igniting sparks behind his eyes and he felt himself beginning to tremble.

His lips opened involuntarily at the touch of her tongue and he moaned at the taste of her, even better than  
he had imagined. Sweetness, cinnamon and magic mixed with something uniquely Emma. As their  
tongues dueled, it was Emma’s turn to moan, a soft, happy sound that made something inside him snap.

Reaching down, Jefferson grasped her thighs and easily lifted her. Emma needed no encouragement to wrap her legs around his hips as he stumbled toward the doors he assumed were bedrooms. Making a judgment call, he stepped into the slightly unkempt room. Sunlight spilled in through buttery yellow curtains, making the room look warm and inviting.

With a grin, he dropped her lightly onto the flowered bed spread, causing her to let out a huff of surprise. For a moment, he looked down at her, all tousled blond hair and kiss swollen lips, just drinking in the sight. Part of him wanted to savor the moment, draw things out, but he was afraid she’d come to her senses at any moment and throw him out.

After all, she thought he was insane.

Jefferson slipped onto the bed beside her and started kissing her again. His body seemed to throb with need  
and he pushed her back against the comforter, hands skating over her body. Emma didn’t seem to mind,  
because she returned the attention. Clothes were rapidly discarded and soon they were stripped down to  
their underwear, pressed together, moving in a rhythm they didn’t even have to think about.

Somehow, she felt right against him, perfect in a way he never thought he’d experience again. The heat of her body encouraged him to move against her with more intent, desperate to be inside her, though he was still hesitant to strip the last barriers from between their bodies.

Emma didn’t seem to share his nerves and nipped lightly at his throat before demanding, “Jefferson, fuck me.”

He whimpered a bit at her words and he reached down, hooking his fingers around the absurdly delicate fabric of her panties and giving a sharp tug, tearing where they wrapped around her hips. Emma’s eyes widened in surprise, but she grinned and scrambled to shove his boxer briefs down.

As intoxicating as their contact had been, the feel of his cock pressed tightly against the velvety skin of her inner thigh was on another level all together and he groaned, panting and letting his brow fall forward to rest against her shoulder. Emma murmured, sounding quite pleased herself, and ran her hands up and down his back, ghosting over scars without comment. When she reached his neck and he felt her run her nails over the livid mark, he snapped his hips forward, aligning himself with her.

Lifting his head, Jefferson looked into Emma’s lust darkened eyes as he thrust into her. Intense, electrifying pleasure shot through him and he shuddered, even as Emma grabbed his hair and pulled him into a bruising kiss. Their tongues dueled and he allowed his hands to roam over her body, caressing hot, sweat damp skin, tweaking a pebbled nipple and swallowing the moan that action pulled from her.

Her body twitched and fluttered around him, letting Jefferson know she was as over stimulated as he himself was, but he felt the need to slide a hand to the apex of her thighs, fingers slipping as he located the little bundle of nerves and rolled it in time with his increasingly erratic thrusts.

Emma cried out then and the force of her orgasm pushed him over the edge, the world around them falling out of focus as wave after wave of sensation rolled over and through him. They collapsed in a sweaty, shuddering heap, clinging together as though afraid they’d go to pieces without the contact to keep them grounded.

Eventually, Jefferson shifted slightly to one side, not wanting to pin her to the mattress (Oh, who was he kidding? He did want to pin her there, wanted to make love to Emma Swan for hours and hours, until they were both sated and unable to move, but he didn’t want her to feel pinned. There was a difference) and brushed her hair back from her rosy face.

Emma was regarding him with soft eyes, her breathing just beginning to slow, and he appreciated how lovely she looked, flushed and happy, sprawled in the sun lit room.

Deciding to take his chances, he brushed his hands over her shoulders and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. It was a gently, feather light contact and he took a deep breath, inhaling her scent. She smelled like lust, gun oil and magic, a combination that seemed to trigger something in him because he felt himself growing hard again, despite his recent release.

Clearly, he hadn’t gotten her out of his system, which was what Emma had indicated this was about and, from the sounds she was making, she was all for round two.

This time though, he had no intention of rushing. He wanted to savor every moment with her, memorize her kiss, her taste, the feel of her skin under his palms and lips. He wanted to remember the way her voice sounded, breathy and rough as she moaned into his ear.

Memories were good. Sometimes, memories were all you had to get you through.

Leisurely, he kissed a trail from her mouth down to her chin. Emma leaned back and he let himself kiss every inch of her exposed throat, her ears, her shoulders, flicking his tongue over the pale skin. She felt incredible, warm and smooth, and she tasted faintly of honey and salt – the latter a reminder of their earlier exertions, her sweat mixed with his.

Emma wasn’t idle, running her hands over his shoulders, then down his chest and abs, which caused his cock jump. He really wanted her to touch him, to wrap her slim hand around him and…well, anything involving that activity was more than nice.

She seemed to have other ideas, running her hands over his thighs, then sliding around and squeezing his ass. He groaned against her skin and caught her by the waist, rolling and sitting up, pulling her into a seat his lap. "Emma," he whispered, voice low and gravelly as he stared into her eyes. "I think I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you."

Though she didn’t reply verbally, Emma rose up on her knees and pressed against him, causing his head to fall back, bumping the headboard as his eyes slipped shut. She moved up and down, letting him slide against her wet folds without taking him inside and he groaned, gripping her hips, moving eagerly against her.

After several long moments with their harsh breaths echoing in the air, Jefferson leaned forward and placed an open mouthed kiss to her shoulder. She hummed appreciatively and arched her back, thrusting her breasts toward him, but the angle was wrong and she tumbled back to the mattress.

He followed eagerly, brushing a light kiss over the top of her plump breast as she moaned and writhed beneath him.

" _Jefferson_."

He liked the way she said his name, gasping it like a prayer. Gently, he ran his tongue over the swell of her breast, savoring the feel of warm skin beneath his lips. When he finally drew her nipple into his mouth she made a high-pitched, needy sound and got a firm grip on his hair, anchoring him…not that he minded.

Her breast was soft and warm, but her nipple was a tight little bud trapped between his lips to suckle. That drew a ragged sob from Emma and her hips bucked up toward him, which made him groan when he felt the wet heat of her core pressing against his lower abdomen. Trying to relieve some of the pressure building, Jefferson ground himself against the bed, but the friction was only a temporary fix.

After giving both her breasts equal attention, Jefferson pulled himself back up Emma’s shuddering body and kissed her deeply before pressing back into her body. She was so slick, hot and tight and he gasped, trying to bite back a cry of pleasure as she wrapped her legs snugly around his hips, pulling him closer. He threw his head back, reveling in the sensation and she latched lightly onto his throat¸ nibbling along his scar.

“Emma,” he choked, the ability to form any other words long lost.

They moved together, hard and confidant, her hips meeting his every thrust. Her increasingly desperate murmurs encouraged him to move even faster and he had to concentrate in order retain any semblance of self-control.

He’d known they had a spark, but this was…indescribable. They fit together as though by some grand design and each had an almost instinctive feel for the others body, what they liked. What they were doing felt so right and he really hoped she would reconsider her stance on getting this out of their systems.

He doubted he’d ever get enough of her.

Rocking together, he was surprised when Emma she arched her head back, crying out as came. Jefferson felt her inner walls clamp down around him and he bit his lip hard, thinking contractions of her muscles would pull him after her.

He continued moving, shallow thrusts that eased her through the aftershocks of her orgasm, but his body seemed not quite ready to follow her example. When she blinked at him with sated, glazed eyes and tugged on his hips, he picked up the pace again, loving the feel of her body contracting around him, almost as though she hadn’t finished….

Jefferson lost all ability to form a coherent thought when Emma convulsed under him, coming again and causing a powerful orgasm to tear through him. Together, they rode out the waves of sensation, shuddering and gasping, slumping into a near boneless pile of limbs and twitching flesh. Deciding that it was imperative he not let her go, he held her cradled against his chest as they tried to calm themselves enough to…well, to do anything.

Eventually, he managed to say, “I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that I don’t think this is going to keep my mind off of you for long.”

Emma nodded, her fingers tracing a random pattern on his shoulder. “Can’t disagree with you,” she murmured sleepily. “We’ll just have to keep trying…Feel up to a shower?”

Showering would be a good idea, as they were both quite a mess…Plus, that shower dream had been intriguing….

“Shower, then nap?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

They’d figure the rest out later.

* * *

Comments, pretty please?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I need your arms around me.  
>  I need your scent on my skin.  
> and I need to know that you'll never let go,  
> you'll never let go again.  
> you'll never let go again._


End file.
